The Mystery Megapack

bridesmaids looked dainty in pink ruffles. I looked like a linebacker in lace. I begged Gail to let me wear a more becoming style—maids of honor often did wear a different dress from the bridesmaids. But two of Harry’s sisters, Junie and Jill, were in the wedding, and they loved the pink ruffled dress. Gail’s younger sisters, Heather and Ashley agreed. The four blonde twits insisted that we all had to wear the same thing to “look right.”
    Nothing would ever make me look right in that outfit.
    “Come on, Vanessa,” Gail said, trying to soothe me in the dress shop. “We went to high school together. You know all bridesmaids’ dresses are hopeless. You can make me wear something horrible when you get married.” She thought it was funny.
    “That will never happen,” I said. “I’m not the marrying kind.”
    I wasn’t, either. I preferred married men. No muss, no fuss, no proposals to spoil the fun. I enjoyed sneaking around, and when I got bored with the affair, I broke it off. The men didn’t dare complain, or try to get me back. They didn’t want their wives finding out.
    So although I felt sorry for Gail, I took a small secret delight in her discomfort. What are friends for?
    The rest of the wedding went off without a hitch. Harry pulled back his bride’s lace veil and kissed her with a show of passion that left the old women in the front pews fanning themselves. I handed Gail her heavy bouquet of white roses and the oddly appropriate baby’s breath, and straightened her seed pearl train again when she turned to face the congregation. Everyone applauded the new Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey.
    Then came countless photos and the videotaping, while the wedding guests loitered outside the church. I hated posing for pictures, and wondered if I could offer the photographer something to ruin the pictures of me in that dress. I’d caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror in the brides’ room at the church, and saw it was worse than I thought.
    At last we ran down the church steps while the guests blew politically correct bubbles (rice hurt the little birdies) and into the waiting white limos.
    The reception was lavish. It was held in the main ballroom of the old Mauldin hotel, a fantasy of white and gold trimmed with ten thousand dollars worth of flowers. My Aunt Marlene had finagled an invitation. Of course, she couldn’t resist a jab at me in the receiving line. “That’s the ugliest bridesmaid dress I’ve ever seen,” she said, “and I’ve seen some in my time.”
    Aunt Marlene was about eighty. Her skin was spotted with warts, moles, and age spots until she looked like a fat speckled hen, with a yellow beak of a nose. The wrinkles under her chin folded up and down like an accordion when she talked. She was wearing her all-purpose navy blue wedding and funeral dress with the rhinestone buttons.
    “Thanks, Aunt Marlene. You always know how to make a girl feel good,” I said.
    “I always tell the truth,” she said, righteously. “I know my duty.”
    “And never shirked it, either,” I said.
    “That’s right,” she said, ignoring the dig. “And what was that Gail doing cursing on the altar? Disrespectful, I call it.” Exciting, I’d call it. I hadn’t seen such malice light up those old dead lizard eyes since Mrs. Dougherty ran off with the Scoutmaster.
    “She fainted,” I said.
    “I’ll bet she’s pregnant,” said Aunt Marlene, and I knew that no matter how tight Gail was laced, Aunt Marlene wouldn’t be fooled when the baby came along.
    Finally, the receiving line was over. The wedding party scattered to grab a drink, put their bouquets down or use the bathroom. Gail looked beat. “I need to sit down for a minute,” she said.
    “Are you OK?” I asked her.
    “Yeah, sure,” she said, managing a weak smile. “Just some last minute jitters up there at the altar.”
    “Can I get you anything? Water? Some food?” The groom should have done this, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    “Shoes,” she said. “These satin heels are killing me. We still have to throw the bouquet and the garter, cut the cake and dance. Would you get me my comfortable shoes? I stashed them in the back storage room, by the band stand.”
    She pointed in that direction, and I trotted over and opened the door. The light was already on. I saw stacks of beer kegs and soda cases, and a shelf with things the bride would need that night—some lipstick and tissues, a brush and hair spray, comfortable shoes, a